


Clouded

by GrimAnonymousRex



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Disabled Character, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Love, M/M, Romance, finsu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2019-11-08 04:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17974940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimAnonymousRex/pseuds/GrimAnonymousRex
Summary: Berwald has always cut an intimidating figure- tall, stern featured, introverted and quiet. His eyes, too, used to scare people off when he was a child... but, now an adult, the reason why is very different.He is completely blind.Formerly "Like The Sky On a Cloudy Day". I've also gone back to edit a bit, so hopefully it's a bit more streamlined and less clunky now :)





	1. Manky Pineapple is calling

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters from Hetalia: Axis Powers.
> 
> Edit- based on the recommendation of one of the people who commented (for which much thanks :D ) I have altered the chapter slightly, it's not very realistic to have Hana as a guide dog as she is, so I've made her a Golden Retriever. Fun Fact- the office where my mum used to work, one of the floors was rented out to a guide dog puppy training school, and she and her coworkers used to watch some of the training, it was really cute!

The world buzzed and hummed, loud and vibrant. The air held a humid quality, cloying and sweet- smells of the season mixing with aromas from the diverse range of shops surrounding him, rich perfumes and leather. Snatches of conversations drifted past in all different directions, the lives of others forever interesting. It was difficult, the world was imposing and often stressful, especially when the pavement became uneven; the walkways of Chester could try even the least clumsy of souls, let alone someone like him.

The tall Swede walked along the street, thinking around it all and focusing on his current goal- walking to the café. Berwald enjoyed the warm autumn sun on his face and body, absorbing into dark clothes and kissing his skin; it was a comforting feeling, a distraction from the noise and sensory stimulation as he took long and confident strides. There was one noise, one thing, the he had to pay constant attention to and after so long he’d developed the perfect balance between himself and the world around him, all thanks to his guide dog, Hanatamago.

The Golden Retriever had had been his faithful companion for three years and Berwald didn’t know how he'd manage without her. Sure, he was proficient in using a cane but it never afforded him the same degree of safety and security as she did. Together they were different sides of the same coin, if you would; Berwald cut a physically intimidating presence, serious and sharp face with a bearing belying gentleness and mischief, while Hanatamago never failed to draw people in, Berwald included. She was more than a guide dog, Hana was his very life-line, his best friend.

Excited panting reached his ears, the journey so routine that Hana knew exactly the destination. “You’re excited, aren’t ya, Hana?” A grumble and a brush against his leg was all the response he needed. Berwald laughed softly. “You’re a real tart. It’d break Ludwig’s heart if I told him it was pure cupboard love. Anyone’s fer a dog treat and scratch behind the ear, mh?”

Some people might think it mad to be conversing with one’s dog like this, but Berwald didn’t care a jot. He could be himself with his guide in a way that was impossible for him to be with nearly all others. She never judged the thick accent, the slow way he spoke or the deep tone which frightened some, as did his height, build, and the fact that Berwald was completely blind. Sunglasses were a necessity for him, even around the house sometimes. Berwald had once been told that his eyes were beautiful, so deep and intense, but all he could remember was the colour itself, a green-blue hue, and that the way he often glared at the world surrounding him was unsettling, even though the cause of the glaring was simple shortsightedness.

He couldn’t glare now though, could he?

As if sensing her owner’s brooding Hana gave a small, grumbling whine, bringing her owner back to the present. It doesn’t do to dwell on such things, and the past is the past. What matters is the here and now, and speaking of…

A warm and pleasant scent danced in the air; cinnamon, coffee, vanilla and… citrus? It’s beautiful and uplifting, familiar, easing away the tension in Berwald’s shoulders as he stepped into _Café Veniziano._ It’s a Wednesday today, meaning he’ll either be served by Antonio, a bright and joyful Spaniard, or Lovino, his not-so cheerful Italian boyfriend and brother of the cafe's owner, Feliciano. He has it all memorised.

Eyes from across the room bored into him, an unpleasant sensation which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight, an itchy prickle up his back. Berwald may have been sightless but was always hyper-aware of being watched. He did his best to ignore it, removing his coat in the warmth of the building, thought's troubled by the intrusion and self conscious of other's perceptions.

“ _I hope they’re not looking at my eyes. The glasses should hide them, but sometimes people see…”_

“Toris, the hell? Like, doesn’t it say “No Dogs Allowed”? The owner made me leave last time I came in with Fluffy,” a Polish accent hissed on the other side of the room, picked up by keen, well-trained ears. It was near impossible for him to tell whether the speaker was male or female, though, but the annoyance in the tone amused him- it was so overdramatic and kind of prissy. At least they hadn't been staring at his eyes, Berwald thought.

“Feliks don’t be an idiot,” another man, presumably Toris, answered back, sounding frustrated. “Fluffy is not a _guide dog_ , is he?” Berwald smirked inwardly at the whiny _harrumph_ that followed.

In all honesty, Berwald was far too used to this sort of treatment for it to truly bother him, and this had nothing on an instance where he'd been on the bus about four years ago. The bus had been full, no one offered him assistance or their seat and Berwald had been too nervous and embarrassed to ask. Before he could grab onto a railing or pole, the driver had set off. He fell, his head smacking into a seat and knocking him unconscious only to wake up hours later in hospital bed.

“ _Great way to spend a birthday…”_ He thought, sourly.

“Hola, Berwald!” A cheery voice greeted, an aura of friendliness surrounding him. “And hola, Hana! How are you today?” Antonio's warm hand took his arm, gently guiding him to a free table.

“Not too bad thanks.” The smell from outside was now stronger. Maybe Antonio had come from the kitchen. “Ludwig experimenting again? Smells lemony.” Antonio chuckled, and Berwald’s ears tingled nicely. It was such a pleasant laugh, not boisterous or over the top but warm somehow, kind. The Spaniard never seemed bothered by his unmoving features or forbidding appearances. Then again, his choice in life partner maybe had made him immune to such things.

“You can smell that from all the way over here? You’re good! Si, he’s just made a batch of lemon Bakewell’s. Would you like to try one?”

“Ja, please, and a large cappuccino.”

“Coming right up, amigo.” The soft rustling of fabric and fading footsteps announced his departure. Slowly, concentration diminishing, the other sounds of the café filled his ears: the whirr and steaming of the coffee machine, quiet music drifting out of the speakers to his left and the low chatter of customers. There’s a sigh of relief, but no one hears it. Work is finished for today and now is the time for him.

Berwald loved his job, he truly did. Being a teaching assistant at the local primary school was great, it paid the bills and gave him a lease of life he hadn't realised he still had. But boy, oh boy was it tiring, even with the two afternoons a week off that the school granted him- a point he had initially fought over. He'd wanted to work full time and knew he could, but the school had insisted that full-time work might be too much and so offered him the afternoons off. It took him three months to admit that they were right and to take the time off. It was surprisingly exhausting trying to concentrate on the classes, listening out for who needed help and with what, who was being mean to who and making sure everyone was paying attention to him and Mathias. Berwald sometimes taught classes of his own too, history, and would read aloud to the kids, but keeping a class of forty under control was a challenge.

That aside, he knew he wouldn’t trade his job for anything. The children were more accepting of him that the majority of adults, and often came out with some of the funniest shit he’d ever heard. Such as calling the Dane a “manky pineapple” because of his hair and freckles. “Manky Pineapple” was now Mathias’s contact name on Berwald's phone. It was surprising how he never tired of hearing “Manky Pineapple is calling” every single time he called him. The Dane did get his revenge when a small boy called Peter insisted that Swedish people don’t get born like normal people. Oh no. They are the result of the sacred union between an IKEA desk lamp, an out of date can of surströmming, and an elk named “Gerald”. His friends had to have slipped something in his morning cornflakes, they just had to.

No matter how many times either he or Mat tried to teach them, however, the kids could never pronounce their last names right. Maybe it was the Northern accents that did it but they were “Mister Coal-er” and “Mister Oxensherner” or “Oxen-jar-na”, though Berwald had to suppose it was kind of endearing hearing “Good morning, Mr Coal-er; good morning, Mr Oxensherner” at morning class assembly. They liked learning bits of Swedish and Danish, surprisingly, and even some Norwegian, soaking up the information like sponges.

A rich and booming voice advanced towards him and Berwald jumped at the volume, though he grinned inwardly at what the German man was saying.

“Ah, mein Liebe! Wer ist ein gutes Mädchen? Du bist, das stimmt! Du schönes, kleines Blumenei!” Ludwig gushed. "Is it ok if I say hi, pet her?" Ludwig always asked permission, much to Berwald's appreciation. When it was given, he began gently fussing over Hana who grumbled and panted happily as her belly was tickled. It was amazing the way that the serious man could transform into a mushy puddle when there was a dog present.

_“I know for a fact that he cried at “Marley and Me”, though I can't claim a moral high ground there, either- I bawled like a baby.”_

“Should I buy a hat, Ludwig? Ya know she only loves ya for the kibbles, right?” The teasing was light, banter between kindred spirits who shared a rather dry and slightly strange sense of humour.

“Our love is true and boundless as the ocean, though I know that mother-in-laws always have difficultly getting on with their son-in-laws.” Ludwig watched as the blind man broke into a smile and huffed a laugh. It did wonders to make him look both younger and more attractive, though the German’s heart was firmly held by Feliciano.

“Why am I the mother-in-law?” He asked in feigned indignation.

“You’d look great in a dress,” a dry, deep Italian voice chipped in and both men were stumped for a comeback. Who’d have known that Lovino had a sense of humour?

“Wedding plans aside, I wanted your opinion on the cake, if you wouldn’t mind.” Berwald could detect a slight nervous tone creeping into his voice as he placed the plate on the table.

“Not at all, it’s always a pleasure,” he replied earnestly. The German’s cakes were to die for, yet Ludwig was always unsure of himself.

Ludwig watched as Berwald carefully slid his large hand across the wooden table-top, feeling for the plate until his fingers brushed ceramic a short distance away from him. The plate was warm in his cold fingers, bringing it closer he dipped his head slightly to take in the aromas. Lemon, vanilla, almonds, and a wonderful cake-y smell wafted around Berwald’s nose, making his mouth water. Picking up the still warm pastry he brought it to his lips and took a bite, flavours exploding on his tongue. The pastry was perfectly done, not soggy at all, and the cake inside was light and moist, melting away into the sweet and sharp lemon curd.

The German man’s nervousness abated when Berwald gave a quiet hum of delight. “Is it ok?” He asked, biting his lip.

“Forget marryin’ Hana, ya can marry me.” The German man gave a relieved chuff of laughter. “It’s amazing, Ludwig, I don’t know why ya worry so much.” The man had a serious confidence complex, it went far beyond modesty and was more than slightly worrying.

“Wah! Luddy, you’re not going to marry Mr Berwald, are you?! We’re engaged!” Another Italian accented voice cried out from somewhere to his right, getting louder as it came closer. Feliciano’s voice had a music quality usually, but now he sounded upset. Berwald's shoulders tensed with embarrassment.

“Nein, nein! Liebe, bitte! It was a joke!” Ludwig hurried to reassure his boyfriend. Feliciano Vargas was lovely, but had a tendency to panic first, think later.

“My apologies, Feli- we weren’t being serious at all, I promise. Ludwig isn’t going ta marry me or Hana.” Berwald tried to reassure him, but the café manager had started to sob.

“Chigi, better not, you… you… Ikea bastard!” Lovino growled, and both Ludwig and Berwald could feel the glower from ten feet away.

“WAH!! LUDDY DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!”

“ _Oh, fan.”_

“Lovi! Don’t swear at the customers!”

“No one makes fratello cry, tomato basta-!“

“LOVINO!”

_“This is why I can't have nice things, isn’t it?”_

“Feliciano, please calm down.” He said, using the 'calming teacher' voice which broke up many a fight in school. “Ludwig still loves you and I’m not marrying anyone. It was a very silly joke, and I’m very sorry that I caused an upset.” Berwald could hear gentle sniffling, but eventually heard Feli walk closer, followed by the soft clunk of ceramic against wood as a cup and saucer was placed down. Finger tapping against his thigh, Berwald waited for something to happen, wishing he knew where to look.

“I forgive you,” his voice was light again, bubbling and bouncy as the upset was forgotten. The relief was immediate. Hana gave a little whine, and Feliciano giggled. “Si, I forgive you too, bella! Enjoy your coffee, Berwald.”

“Tack.” He mumbled. Rhythmic footsteps turned away from him, leaving him in peace with his _fika_. Once more, his back prickled with the sensation of the other patrons ogling him, squirming and blushing uncomfortably.

“I blame ya entirely,” Berwald murmured towards Hana. A warm head plopped onto his leg in a semblance of reply. “No use looking at me like that, ya got me in trouble.” A wet tongue licked the back of a hand in apology and he huffed, extending his fingers to scratch the top of her head. “Fine, I forgive ya- can’t stay mad forever, how would I get home, hm?” Berwald grinned minutely, a great deal calmer and settling down to enjoy the rest of the treat.

They meant a lot, these little outings and being with people who weren't children or colleagues. It was a chance to interact with the world in a way he found safe and reassuring. Berwald tended towards being introverted before being blinded but afterwards he retreated into himself, building up protective walls to keep others out. Breaking out of himself had required hard work, patience, and a damned good therapist. It was still a little difficult because many kept their distance without his input, put off by his appearance.

Berwald was a definite bachelor, living alone with his guide for company. He’d had relationships in the past, but they were either one-night stands or short-term boyfriends. Thankfully he had made a couple of close friends in Mathias, his soon-to-be husband Lukas, and Lukas’s half-brother Emil. Ludwig, too, he was very friendly with because they both loved dogs and baked goods, and it had grown from there to the extent where he felt comfortable being more of himself. Though, if the past few minutes where anything to go by it didn’t exactly always work out.

The Swede gave a quiet sigh, finishing the _fika_ and settling the bill, uttering another apology to the Italian brothers. The walk home from the café was a short one, but always enjoyable; the wind from cars whizzing past drifted across his face and tousled his hair, pedestrians gradually filtered out as he walked into more suburban territory down familiar streets to his house.

The delicate scents of primrose and lily of the valley greeted him- he was home.

“Good evening, mon ami!”

“Hej Francis,” he greeted his neighbour. The Frenchman only ever spoke to him when intoxicated because the his lasting impression of him was that the Swede was a terrifying man who was very protective of his peonies.

“You’re not still mad about me throwing up in your flower bed, are you?” His voice was purring, coming closer and closer. Francis was lovely really, but tended to grow more than slightly flirtatious when drunk. “I did offer to make it up to you, mon cher…”

“Nej, tack. You’re very happily married…” “… _and I would not touch you with a barge pole._ ” Berwald hurried to make his escape. “Have a good night, Francis.”

“Oh, don’t leave so soo-“ The voice cut off as Berwald closed the front door behind him, breathing a heavy sigh of relief into the quiet of his home. Bending down he unclipped Hana’s leash, hearing her little claws _click_ against the hardwood floor as she skittered away to do… well, whatever it was she did, probably getting a drink. Berwald, meanwhile, took off his coat and hung it on the peg by the door, placing his house keys on the peg next to it- that was where they always lived. His shoes went on the shoe rack, neat and orderly, preferring to walk around either barefoot or with socks- better to feel the ground beneath his feet, vibrations and subtle differences which allowed him to navigate.

Everything had a place in Berwald’s home. Everything organised and arranged for familiarity and ease of use. It was a semi-detached bungalow with two bedrooms, two bathrooms (one en suite), a large kitchen and a cosy living room. The garden he tended himself, apart from mowing the lawn- he paid the kids next door, Matthew and Alfred, to do that for him.

Independent. That would be the best word to use to describe both how Berwald lived and the settings for his life. There was no one to rely on, and he did not have to rely on anyone else for the most important things; the only exception was Hana but, even though he was dependant or her, she gave him independence. He was disabled, yes, but he coped well and lived a life he was generally contented with. He got through his education, through university and teacher-training with little bother and had reached a point of balance in his life; there was no struggle, no hardships, nothing of that sort.

But sometimes, in the silence of the house, in the darkness that surrounded him, Berwald could not help but to feel lonely. There was no one beside him when he woke up, no one in the kitchen to sing alongside him as he cooked breakfast, no one to kiss his cheek goodbye in the morning or his lips in welcome of an evening.

Sometimes the peace and quiet was suffocating.

Socked feet padding softly on the wooden floor, Berwald walked to his lounge and sank down onto the sofa, lying down. The tiny rattle of claws and muted thud of paws announced Hana's return, the soft, warm mass of her head landed on his stomach, making herself comfy by his side and huffing out a breath while one large hand patted lightly against fur. He felt the dial on his watch, telling him it was only three o’ clock. A nap was out of the question, he wouldn’t be able to sleep later and could very well miss dinner.

 _“Maybe a book?”_ He wondered and reached his arm over to the coffee table. He knew he did leave a book there, but couldn’t remember what it was. With the fingertips of his right hand he registered the neat line of coded, raised dots on the surface of the tome.

 _“Dracula.”_ Bram Stoker’s classic novel. Berwald’s lips curved up slightly as he started to read, easily translating the Braille words into the world of the book in his head. It wasn’t a blankness now, he could picture the mountains that the carriage drove through, could envision the forest under the night sky, the blue flames and the wolves attacking the cart. In his own mind he could breathe life into the descriptions just as well as anyone else could.

He was just getting to the part where the three Brides of Dracula arrive and devour a baby when his phone rang, sounding out into the quiet room with “ _Manky Pineapple is calling…_ ”

“ _Oh God._ ” “Ja?”

“Bernie! Put your glad rags on, we’re going out tonight!”

“Mathias, it’s a week night. We have school tomorrow.” He felt like he was a teen again saying that, but being a teacher did that to you.

“Not any more we don’t! Roof collapsed in one of the classrooms after you left. Don't worry, it was empty but until it’s fixed, which’ll take a few days, we’re free! And before you even think of backing out, just remember I know where you live! If we have to drag you out we will!”

The loudest, most irritated groan imaginable fell past Berwald’s lips as he struggled to think of any excuse. Or for divine intervention, whichever really.

“And no, I know you haven’t fallen over and hurt your back, or your leg, or your elbow.”

“M’ spleen's exploded and I’m currently awaiting surgery.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve moved ta outer Mongolia t' live in a yurt and herd yaks.”

“Nej.”

“I’ve died and you’re speaking t’ my ghost?”

“We’ll be there at eight!” _Click_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: German. "Ah, mein Liebe! Wer ist ein gutes Mädchen? Du bist, das stimmt! Du schönes, kleines Blumenei!" = "Ah, my love! Who’s a good girl? You are, that’s right! You beautiful, little flower egg!"
> 
> Hi guys! I thought I'd try my hand at writing a romance, it might not be the best but I'll give it a go, I will even attempt to write (non-explicit) smut. As with my other fics, constructive criticism/tips/suggestions are welcomed. The update speed for this may be a little slow, and this chapter is a bit of an exposition dump in places. I wanted to see how things would work if Sweden didn't/couldn't glare at things, and how things would be different for Finland in this case.
> 
> I've set this in the City of Chester, UK, where I spent the last four years at uni. You can look around the place on Google- it is a beautiful place, even if the smell from the Shropshire Union Canal, the River Dee and the drains could bloody strip tarmac. And the number of times I've sprained my ankles on the bloody cobblestone pavements is unreal, whoever built the walkways in Chester wants shooting, it's awful.
> 
> The Swedish pronunciation of Berwald's last name would be, based from experience, nigh on impossible for kids from that part of the North, especially if they were from Liverpool. Even I struggle a bit to make the sound required for "stjärna". Google it and you'll see what I mean :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)


	2. Zen, or "The Art of Navigating a One-way Bus lane"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters were originally going to be one chapter, but it ended up being like 4K words, so I thought it would be better as two instead to make it flow a little better :)
> 
> As well as not owning Hetalia, I do not own any of the drinking establishments mentioned, nor am I affiliated with them in any way.
> 
> 27/03/19- I've edited this chapter somewhat because I wasn't happy with it in places. I hope it reads better now and that you can forgive me my relative inexperience :) reviews and comments are appreciated! (validate my existence, somebody, please ;D )

Any protests Berwald might have had vanished as the call cut off. “Ugghhhhhhh… Why me?" He asked no one in particular, fully aware that there were probably several reasons. The main one was that Mathias was his friend, so things like this happened on a regular basis. Putting his phone back on the table, he stretched to retrieve his book- Berwald wanted to read to the end of the chapter, at least, before resigning himself to the rituals of getting oneself ready for a night on the town.

Oh, joy of joys.

"S’pose I better have a shower and something to eat, hm, Hana?” The affirming _huff_ was answer enough to make him haul himself off the sofa and into his bedroom, shadowed by Hana. A faint scent of vanilla hung in the air- the unlit candle on his dresser, sweet and comforting, reminded him of home. Leaving the en suite door closed, but unlocked, he deposited his clothes in the wash-basket and placed his glasses on the shelf above the sink. He felt more naked once his glasses were gone, more vulnerable even though he was safe and alone. 

The shower was quick but cleansing, the warm water soothing on his scalp as he washed his hair. Berwald loved water, the feeling of rain kissing his skin easily replicated by the spray from the shower head. When he was a child, swimming was one of his favourite activities, but the circumstances now rendered it somewhat impossible for him. Once clean, he took the opportunity to shave too, running the electric razor over his face and neck with care.

" _Wonder what I'd look like with a beard_ ," he mused. " _A Viking, maybe? Could get a helmet, always wanted one of those._ " 

Wrapping a soft towel around his waist, he left the steam of the bathroom. A disgruntled grumble greeted him, but Berwald just laughed- he was in trouble. 

“Let me guess: I haven’t fed ya fer days, nobody loves you and I’m a horrible person, ja? S'pose you want dinner.” He assumed the bark which followed was a “ _Yes!_ ” to all of the above.

"Can't even dry my hair, you're more impatient than Mat." Smiling, he gave Hana's head a quick ruffle and let her eat in peace.

What to wear, he asked himself. Mathias would probably hate whatever Berwald was wearing and try and pick an outfit for him, but that never got the Dane anywhere. His style choices were perfectly serviceable, thank you very much, and flannel shirts are never a bad option. A nice flannel shirt, casual jeans and jacket and he was set. The outfit hugged his form nicely, he thought- snug but not tight. Regular exercise kept him strong, and walking nearly everywhere kept him healthy. He even put some nice aftershave on, a gift from his mother.

“Hm. Need to call her at some point, before the weekend," he muttered to himself, making a mental note.

By the time he was dressed it was nearly 6pm. Stomach rumbling, he settled on chicken with new potatoes, carrots and peas; simple but filling and tasty. Perfect for alcohol absorption. Hana gave a quiet yawn and Berwald heard her stretch on the rug in the lounge, tail thumping lightly against the floor.

Hana.

The thought struck him like a flash; he would not be able to take Hana into a club with him. And knowing Mathias, he would invariably be dragged to one, but he couldnt leave her alone for so long. Tapping his mouth with a finger tip, he struggled to think of a solution. It was easy to forget things like this when he was so used to her presence.

"Hm." Perhaps he could try his neighbours. They knew how to behave around her, to just let her be and not to fuss her much. Surely they wouldn't mind for a couple of hours; usually Emil would be tasked with dog-sitting, being only sixteen, but this time they were coming to his house. Going out was a rare occurrence for many different reasons; school, Hana, and his own desires to not spend too much time around drunk people, where he risked hurting himself or accidentally hurting someone else.

Despite that, Lukas and Mat always looked out for him, making sure he wasn’t overwhelmed and keeping to the quieter spots in the pubs and clubs. With them, he always had fun. Mathias would even act as Berwald’s “guide-Dane”, a part he played with as much relish as care. They always went early before it got too busy and often left the clubs after a while to go to somewhere like  _Wetherspoons_ , the great haven of inexpensive food and drink. Everything routine and planned for.

" _Worth a try._ "

"Hana, come here please." Faithfully she appeared at his side, sitting calmly as he attached the leash to her collar. "Sorry about this, want to keep ya safe," he muttered, stroking a finger behind her ear. He grabbed his cane and headed next door to try his luck. The door was answered after a few seconds, the smells of burnt food and garlic assailing his sinuses.

“Ah, Oxenstjärna. What can I do for you?” Arthur greeted, tone brusque as always. According to Lukas, the English policeman possessed a formidable pair of eyebrows.

Berwald felt his cheeks redden, mildly embarrassed by having to ask this of his neighbour. "Sorry to bother. I wondered if you could take care of Hana for tonight, please. I’ll pay," he offered quickly, hearing a rejection building on the man's tongue. "Just don’t want to leave her alone- goin' out. If I give you my spare key, could ya bring her back 'round before you go to work? I'll be back before 1am.”

His neighbour hummed softly in thought. At the moment he was working nights, leaving around 11:30 for the midnight shift. Hana would only be on her own for an hour, hour and a half at most. Grumpy though the man may have been, Arthur was reliable and very fond of animals.

“Oh don't be silly, you don't need to pay us. I'll take her.”

The relief was immediate. Handing over the spares, Berwald took a moment to say goodbye to Hana, telling her to be good girl. He really did hate to leave her and even the walk back to his own house felt strange; Hana was such an integral piece of his life, he couldn’t bear to think of life without her. It was only for a night, he knew, but Berwald still felt off-balance without the comforting presence at his side.

Dinner was eaten at a leisurely pace and no sooner than he had washed the dishes and tidied up, Mathias arrived with Lukas, barging in with not so much as a by-your-leave.

“You’re not wearing that, you look like a gay lumberjack!” He proclaimed loudly, softening the blow by adding that he'd brought beer with him. “The good kind, too- Danish!” His colleague smelt of cheap but powerful aftershave and his voice was so confusing- he sounded almost like a 13-year-old boy. His partner on the other hand had a very relaxing voice to listen to, it didn’t grate on the ears- it was smooth and low, well-modulated.

“Mathias, quieten down. Berwald has neighbours.” Lukas muttered as he watched his other half sink heavily into the couch. “Sorry.”

“’S’fine. They’re looking after Hana till later, ‘m taking my cane. Might have to help me." He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly sheepish though he knew they both understood. 

“Sure thing, buddy! I shall be your guide-Dane, even better than a guide dog!” Mathias promised but was cut off by his other half.  
  
“You couldn’t guide your way out of a clearly signposted one-way street.” Berwald laughed internally at the sniping.  
  
“That was _one-time_!” Mathias groaned back, feeling mildly affronted. "The sat-nav lied to me, I was betrayed!"

“Even _I_ knew which way we had t’ go, Mat… and I’m _blind_.”

The Danish man gasped theatrically; it wasn’t his fault the people of Great Britain drove on the wrong side of the road and had an obsession with roundabouts! “You wound me! The one way systems in this city make no sense, how was I supposed to know it was a one-way bus lane?!”

“The signs which read “one-way only” and “busses only”?” Lukas suggested, quietly amused as his fiancé started to flap his arms, trying to think of a retort.

“It was the bus driver I felt sorry for,” Berwald chimed in. “And the three others waiting behind him.”

“Your face, Mat, when Emil asked ‘ _Are we there yet?_ ’.” Lukas voice held a tone of amusement which one could only pick up on if you knew him very well, giving a quiet snort when Berwald added,

“It looked like we were there to me.”  
  
“You’re dreadful.” His brow raised, amused as Berwald’s face turned smug, lips slightly curved up at the edges. A very rare expression.

“I try.”

“Why must you laugh at my expense? I don't deserve this, I'm a mostly good person!” The Dane griped. Disturbingly, Berwald and Lukas simultaneously turned to face him, and then each other, facing one another almost head on. It still unnerved him that they could do that.

“… Do you remember the old woman? Banging on the window with her stick.”

Berwald’s face split into a huge grin with the memory. “Oh God. ‘ _Are you idiots bloody blind?!_ ’” His voice rose several octaves to mimic the woman and Lukas nearly choked on a mouthful of his beer.

“’ _No, but he is’_!” He wheezed. “I thought she was going to collapse, the noise she made!”

“Helvete.” Berwald shook his head, smiling slightly still. Together, he and Lukas were a dangerous combination, especially when beer was added into the mix. Beneath serious facades lay a wealth of mischief, able to summon caustic retorts at a moment’s notice, usually at Mathias’ expense.

“So mean,” Mathias muttered into his bottle. “Karma will come for you both and make you pay for being mean to me.”

Lukas rolled his eyes, smirking fondly. “I know, we’re both horrible human beings.”

“Speak fer yourself, I’m delightful,” Berwald deadpanned.

“Just shut up, drink your beers, and at least put a different jacket on.”

“No,” Lukas and Berwald spoke in unison, and Mathias promptly gave up.

Making himself comfortable on the couch, Berwald sank the first beer, listening as the conversation drifted from topic to topic, relaxed and easy- familiar. He might not have said it aloud (often, at least), but the pair of them were Berwald’s closest friends and he was immensely grateful for their presence in his life. Their combination of quiet determination and overwhelming cheerfulness had left little room for Berwald to escape, and after a while he realised he didn’t want to. At first, when Berwald had joined the school, he had been unsure of the Dane; he seemed too loud and too boisterous, always pestering around him in the staff room. But then he actually observed the man when he was teaching, realising how calm and professional Mathias was, but fun, too.

Tentatively, the proffered hand of friendship was accepted, the invites to go to the pub after work on Friday's, and then meeting Lukas soon after. They became a trio, bonding over their Viking heritage and shared interests. For the first time in his life, Berwald had felt included and welcomed by others- he was even going to be Mathias’s best man. They were wonderful people, kind and compassionate. Emil, too, was an always welcomed addition.

But it didn't end there. There was something more intimate he shared with them too, or at least intimate for him; he wasn’t left wondering what his friends actually looked like, as he did with most others. He knew their faces (sort of), had “mapped” them at Mathias' insistence to see if the stereotype was true about blind people seeing by touch. It wouldn't ever be the same as truly seeing, but it was more than enough for him to be able to get a general idea. Berwald could picture them all in his head.

Physically, Mat was a couple of inches shorter than Berwald’s 6” 3’ frame and was built the same, while Lukas was about half a foot shorter than Berwald and slightly slimmer. Emil was very like his brother and shorter still. They were all of them blonde; Lukas’ and Emil’s hair was platinum and framed their faces, while Mathias had more of an ashy undertone. Mathias’ eyes were turquoise, Lukas’ indigo and Emil’s almost violet.

He could imagine their faces. Facially, Lukas and Emil were slim but not sharp- soft with delicate features which made them stand out, not overly masculine. Mathias felt like he could have been a model with his well-defined jaw, high cheekbones and rugged features. Berwald felt rather ugly in comparison; his features felt too sharp and hard under his finger tips, the thin lips which rarely smiled and brows which frowned above the rims of his glasses. But all they’d gotten a good laugh out of the experience, and Berwald grew closer to them all.

“We’ll head out at nine, take the bus into town and go wild!” Mathias enthused, but both of his companions shook their heads. “What now?”

“We’re all in our late-twenties, I think our wild days are behind us.”

“Nej, Lukas!" He protested, though his smile dropped, remembering something. "Then again, I had the shock of my life earlier.”

He stood and walked over to where Berwald was sitting, removing the beer bottle from his hands and then clasping them. To Berwald’s confusion, Mathias cupped his hands to either side of his face, the other’s skin warm to the touch and soft.

“What do you feel?” Carefully he manoeuvred Berwald’s thumbs for him, lightly stroking them against the soft skin on the outer corners of his eyes.

Secretly he loved the contact, his hands being held by someone else. “No idea, Mat. What am I looking for?” He asked, completely puzzled. "Yer brows?" He guessed, having giving up quickly.

“Crow’s feet! I have crow’s feet! I’m old, ancient and withered; and look here, too!” The digits were moved down to his cheeks, slight stubble around his mouth prickling Berwald's fingertips, the texture more weathered from frequent shaving. “Smile lines! I’m going to need Botox before I’m 30!”

Lukas snorted, coughing to cover it up. “Mat, lots of younger people have smile lines and crow’s feet. It’s because you’re so happy all the time. I think they’re cute and endearing,” he assured, but Berwald could also hear the amusement in his tone. He imagined Lukas' face turning soft and smiling warmly at his partner, and could feel the beam which Mathias sent back at him. Mathias had a brilliant smile, it could light up a room- he felt it both with his hands and with his being. Even the darkness Berwald was surrounded by lightened when he was with him and Lukas.

“Aw, cheers Lukie! We’ll be young and wild till we’re old and wrinkly. And even then we’ll be young and wild,” he promised.

Berwald's hands were returned to him and Mathias moved away. There was a loud smack of lips against skin, followed by a lighter tap- presumably Lukas bopped him on the nose or something.

“That makes no sense, doofus.” There was only warmth in his tone as he chided him.

“But I’m _your_  doofus, Lukie. Always have been, always will be.” Berwald could hear the sincerity in his tone; there were no pretences. Anyone could tell just how much they truly loved each other, even if you were blind you could not have missed it. They brought out the best in each other, loving one another because of their faults and not in spite of them.

“I don’t think Berwald will ever wrinkle. Your face rarely moves, I reckon you’ll look exactly the same when you're 80.” The Swede mumbled in halfhearted agreement, mind too preoccupied to respond properly or take in what was said.

Not for the first time, Berwald realised how much he wanted a relationship like that, too. Maybe part of it was his own fault for being so introverted and reticent towards people outside of his small circle, but partners and interests tended to just leave him after a while. With a slight start he realised he hadn't actually had sex for over two years, or a relationship for three.

“Damn,” he murmured, _two years_? That wasn’t to say he didn’t _you know_ , but still; it wasn’t the same as being with someone, wasn’t the same as someone else touching him in all the right places, kissing him sweetly and softly. In his chest, his heart gave a little pang... people did not want a burden like him for long.

“What’s up?” Lukas enquired. Berwald had gone a little pink in the cheeks and he knew that the beer was only part of it. His facial expression hadn't changed much, but there was a little melancholy in the set of his mouth, brows furrowed behind dark glasses.

“No, nothing,” he lied. It would be far too embarrassing to talk of such things with them. The thought of being a sad, old bachelor was not a happy one. “Are we leaving yet?” He checked his watch; the bus would leave soon. “Miss the bus if we’re not careful.”

“Shoot, you’re right! Let’s go, gang!” Mathias slammed the rest of his bottle and leapt up from the sofa, grabbing their jackets and passing Berwald his cane. He was last out of his house, locking the door behind him and pocketing his keys.

The night had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wetherspoons are a blessing in this world, providing hungover students with cheap and delectable food so that they may attend lectures without dying. Fun fact- I once did a three hour histology practical involving tissue processing whilst a little drunk (it was fine, the lab tech laughed it off and let me continue with my group- who were also drunk- and the lecturer did not give a shit XD )
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and that I made the Viking Trio banter both funny and realistic :) also, I read a fiction on fanfiction. net called "Days Gone By" and oh my gosh I cried, I cried like five times and I highly recommed it if you haven't read it yourselves, it's about Sweden in Purgatory


	3. Hold My Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the songs, clubs or football teams mentioned. But damn, I wish I did.

The walk to the bus stop was quiet, his friends' voices hushed to allow Berwald to concentrate. At that point they could have been screaming bloody murder and he wouldn’t have heard them, too wrapped up in his own head to notice. What was he doing with himself, with his life? His world revolved around school and home, the only excitement coming from routine outings to the cafe and spending time with Mathias and his family. When was the last time he took himself on a day out somewhere, just him, in a place further afield than Chester? When was the last time he had a date- a proper date? With little thought he boarded the bus, the touch of Mathias' hand holding his elbow barely registering.

There was that strange feeling of time running out, of his life being lived around him instead of with him. Berwald wanted to do more, to be more and have someone there to share it all with. But no one lasted long; the quiet, the times where communication fell flat, all of it. Hiding, he realised. That's what he'd been doing; Berwald was hiding.

The city was dark already, the air cool and fresh and smelling of autumn; few people milled around, predominantly students from the University. Chester had the advantage of possessing a great many clubs and pubs in a relatively small amount of space, however the best option for clubbing was _Rosie’s._ The group decided to head there after stopping at the _George and Dragon_ halfway on Mathias' insistence for more booze. Maybe the loud atmosphere and cheer would help fill the small hole he felt in his chest. The need to curl up and cuddle something grew steadily, even as his friends led him to a table.

Berwald made himself listen, filling the mental layout of the bar in his head: A football match was being aired on the gigantic flat-screen TV (Baggies vs Wolves, if he remembered correctly). Sharp clacks could be heard as snooker balls were potted, the shots either followed by muted cheers or groans. There was a thwacking noise too, darts embedding in the cork board on the other side of the bar. Every so often the kitchen door opened and food would be brought out, accompanied by smells which made his stomach grumble.

Noisy and crowded; he wasn't alone right now. Berwald had company, friends. No one else was really paying attention to him, drunk and otherwise occupied as they were, and that was fine with him. But something was missing from the picture. He kept waiting for a head to nudge at his leg, or for a weight to settle on his foot but, of course, Hana was not there. Lukas and Mathias asked for his opinions for their upcoming wedding and he supplied them mechanically.

The shared look between lovers spoke volumes that Berwald was oblivious to. Mathias excused himself to the bathroom, leaving his other half to talk Berwald out of whatever shell he'd retreated to. This was a task better left to someone with a more delicate touch and, after several years, Lukas had developed the knack for understanding Berwald. Call it intuition, call it empathy, but the walls the Swede built up to others did not affect the Norwegian.

The melancholy was interrupted by soft and understanding tones.

“You’re lonely, aren’t you.” It was not a question, just a statement of fact. The expression on his friend's face shifted, lips thinning almost imperceptibly and perpetual frown deepening a fraction. Lukas' keen eyes caught it all. "Want to talk? You know I'm always here," he offered quietly, knowing that gentle persuasion would more than often do the trick.

Berwald had forgotten just how skilled Lukas was at picking up signals and reading people; it was uncanny and rather unsettling when the only other person who could read him so well was him own mother. It felt safe to talk, however; Lukas would be honest with him, he wouldn't judge him or misinterpret his words as a cry for attention but see them as they were. He _was_ lonely, it was simple and uncomplicated as that. Hana could only go so far, providing him with aid and company, as could they. But when people gave up before giving him a chance it was disheartening. He sighed heavily, crossing his arms across his chest as he worked up his courage to talk, letting the barriers drop.

“Three years, Lukas, and not one person. I’ve given up, what’s the point when no one stays? I tried, tried everything to be more open and talk more but it doesn't make a difference when all they see are these," he said, pointing to the glasses and lifting his cane. "I’ll never have what you and Mat have."

Berwald closed his eyes, feeling something akin to shame. "...People just don't want someone like me." 

Far more than simple loneliness then, Lukas realised. "That's not true." Berwald was no different from anyone else just because he was blind. He was strong, intelligent and resilient, but it was hidden away. Lukas could empathise with that, could understand the reasons why the other felt so insecure, but it didn't help people warm to him. Letting himself brood like this would get Berwald nowhere. If he didn't start believing in himself then no one else would.

“Don’t be so down on yourself, Berwald, you can't think like this. You’ve got a lot going for you, you just haven't found the right one yet." His friend did not look convinced, but Lukas persevered. "And no, you won’t have what Mat and I have. Every relationship is unique in its own way, what you will have will be different and special to you. We're all different people and you can't really compare us," he reasoned. ”You will find someone, someday."

“Can’t exactly look for them, can I?” The bitter words came out of Berwald's mouth before he could stop them. 

Lukas blinked, taken aback; Berwald was never usually like this. Sometimes his disability was subject to 'Gallows’ Humour', as it had been earlier, but he rarely let himself get openly bitter about it, not like this. 

“Berwald, stop. You can’t think like that. Look at how much you've overcome, what you've achieved; you're stronger than you let yourself think. Just give it some time, you're only twenty-eight. I didn't meet Mat till I was twenty-four, and he was my first relationship.” The frown relaxed some, now looking more dejected than hard. Berwald had a lot of love to give, and no one really to give it to beyond Hana and themselves, all members of his surrogate family. “You will find someone, I know it. Now just relax and enjoy yourself, this is meant to be a night out. Drink this.”

A glass was pressed into his hand. “I don’t want to get too drunk,” Berwald shook his head, pushing the glass back. Drunkenness always seemed to lead to him singing Sabaton whilst sprawled on his back on the pavement, a fact evidenced by at least two video's on Mat's phone- that he knew about. 

Once again, however, Lukas was determined to bring the mood up. Funny, because usually this was Mathias' job rather than his. The thought made him grin. “You won't. Now drink up." 

Lukas’ soft voice was reassuring, the icy glass nudged back against his fingertips. With a loud sigh and dwindling reluctance, Berwald took the glass and swallowed it down in three gulps, coughing at the burn and the cold.

“Jävla-!" he spluttered, feeling some of the drink bubble up his nose at the back of his throat. "How much alcohol is in that?!" Unseeing eyes narrowed behind his glasses. His liver was going to hate him in the morning, he just knew it.

“Long Island Iced Tea, lethally strong,” Lukas informed him, trying to keep the smirk out of his voice, but Berwald was too preoccupied with checking he still had enamel left on his teeth to notice. The distractions were working, a short term solution, he knew, but that was all he could provide for the time being.

“... Want another?” Lukas grinned as Berwald lost the mental battle he was clearly having.

"Screw it. Ja, go on." 

It wasn't that he thought Lukas was being dishonest, he knew the man never lied, but allowing himself to accept those things as truth was not something he felt he could do. It was an alien and vulnerable concept, even after hearing the same assurances from others. Why he was like this, he didn't entirely know, but what he did know was that he wanted to drop the angsting and just enjoy himself. The second glass of L.I.I.T went down as quickly and painfully as he first.

"Hey, my man is going in strong! Finally!" The loud boom of the Dane's voice announced his return; much to his relief Berwald seemed less tense and withdrawn, and Lukas was smiling. A beam stretched across his features, pulling out the drinks menu with a flourish. "What do we want next: Sex on the Beach, Purple Rain, or Blue Lagoon?"

As it turned out, all of these were equally delightful as the other, and the rest of the evening became a bit of a blur. Mood forgotten, Berwald could definitely feel himself wobbling slightly as he walked, one arm linked with Mathias for safety. He was smiling, just a bit- spirits lifted and cheered by his friends. The pub was left behind in favour of something livelier as the Scandinavian trio made their way through to the town centre. Gaining entry to the club was easy and, to make it easier for Berwald, they decided to take their party to the first floor.

The music pulsed and pounded and rumbled, resonating in their chests and numbing their ears. They headed straight for the square dance floor, the structure was raised slightly and surrounded by wooden barriers, presumably so people didn’t fall off. The air in room was warm and humid, almost uncomfortably so after the chill of the air outside, smelling faintly of sweat, booze, and a scent that can only be described as "university student".

"There's not many people at the moment, you're all good!" Mathias shouted to be heard over the music. Berwald nodded gratefully. It didn't take long for the beat of the music to catch them all, adrenaline and alcohol creating a thrilling cocktail in their veins. It was hard not to get caught up in the atmosphere; Berwald let out the breath he'd been holding for what felt like weeks. Lukas and Mathias had paired off already, giving a show to the other patrons that he could only imagine. 

 _"Why not join them?"_ His mind encouraged. Why not indeed? 

" _Standing in a crowded room and I can't see your face_..." a woman sang. The words fit him like a glove, he had to admit, as the lyrics continued to weave a tapestry in his mind's eye. But instead of feeling sad or frustrated, he felt surprisingly strong.

" _Break my bones, but you won't see me fall_..." Berwald had fallen, several times, but he always picked himself up and the people he cared for helped him do it. Without even realising it, Berwald started to dance.

" _I don't wanna walk alone._ "  

A hand suddenly grasped his shoulder when Jess Glynne segued into Galantis’ _Peanut Butter Jelly_. Mathias, moving him forward into a space and keeping contact with him at all times while Lukas took the cane. How long had it been since he danced with someone else? Too long, he felt, as strong, hot hands gripped his sides, moving him and moving around him.

“ _So_ this _is how a stripper’s pole feels_ …” he snorted. Too tipsy to be embarrassed he danced with his friend as if he’d been doing it forever.

It never ceased to amaze Lukas just how sexy his partner could be, utterly stunning as well as impossibly charming. And Berwald, too, could turn peoples' heads, the handsome face coupled with his toned body moving in a way that could definitely be described as "hot". If only he was this confident all the time. Not wanting to miss out, he swapped with Mathias when the music changed to Bastille’s _Pompeii_.

Berwald had forgotten just how good a dancer Lukas was, too. He felt alive, but more importantly he felt _free_. Uninhibited, his arms around his friend's shoulders and their warmth surrounding him. It really had been too long, he missed this. Three more songs followed before he needed a break, breathless and exhilarated. His back and chest felt damp with sweat, but he didn't care. Shouting over the music, he let them know he wanted to sit down, guiding himself to one of the side booths with a shy smile on his lips. The next time Mathias wanted to drag him out for a night out, Berwald made himself a promise that he would not resist.

Someone had been watching him, watching the tall man with the intense features now sitting quietly to recover. He was instantly eye-catching and on the dance floor he had been a sight to behold, truly. Maybe, they considered. Why not? After all, his night had been ruined, and he was drunk enough to not be above a little petty revenge. It hurt, and he needed something to take it away, to forget, if only for a little while. Surely, the man wouldn't mind a dance... But their attention was soon dragged back to the matter at hand.

Over the pounding of the music another sound caught Berwald’s attention- two people were having an argument, a real screaming match which ended abruptly. Paying it no more mind, Berwald sat a while longer before making his way back to the edge of the dance floor, waiting for his friends to guide him back in. It had gotten busier now, definitely.

A soft laugh lips his lips; it had been a while since he'd had so much fun, had felt like this. It was so easy to forget and just middle along rather than seeking out thrills, especially when there was often a risk attached- that he could hurt himself or be hurt by someone else. He shook his head- he needed to get out more and have more fun, his life wasn't meant to be lived with his head buried in books and stuck at home. Maybe it was the alcohol talking to him, but he couldn't find any reason to disagree.

The cane was knocked from his hand as a body pushed past, the force enough to startle him.

"Shit," he cursed, bending over to retrieve it. Why did this always happen? This was why he hated using his cane. Hopefully help would come soon, he couldn't get around without it; surely they'd noticed him by now. The floor was sticky as he felt around, but his cane had rolled away somewhere beyond his reach. "Damn it," he said, growing more anxious to find it in case someone walked into him. He did not want to end up in A+E again, thank you. Where was i-?

A warm hand drifted across his back, startling him back to the present as it stroked across his midsection, the touch ending with a tickle to his side. He stiffened immediately but it happened again, a long caress across his ribs. Jerking away slightly he stood back up, spine ram-rod straight and jaw clenched. Who was this? Mat or Lukas wouldn’t do that.  

“ _What’s going on? Why is this- Oh, helvete..._ ”

The person was giggling, very drunkenly, and alarm crept into his system as he was pulled, albeit gently, onto the dance floor. The ability to speak fled, too tense as a small body began moving up against him. He gulped, too-dry throat protesting and breath catching when, finally, the other person spoke.

Their voice carried over the music as if it was the only thing he was ever meant to hear.

“Dance with me!” A male voice, but higher in pitch and strongly accented. It sounded beautiful. Hands appeared near his hips, gripping then hard and making them sway in time with the beat. This was unexpected, but, awkwardly, he started to move again, guided by the other's hands and utterly powerless to resist. The touch was electric, so intimate for one so touch-starved. Tentatively he placed his hands on the man’s shoulders, the fabric of their shirt soft beneath his fingers.

“Yay!” The man cheered when Berwald responded, their movements becoming bolder. Whether his partner knew he was blind or not he didn’t know, all he knew was the body before him was moving up against him in a way that no one had in such a long time.

And damn, did it feel amazing.

His partner was small, around Lukas’s height, and smelled divine. Relaxing into the touch, he started to enjoy the sensations clouding his mind, of being held and being led in the dance, a light shiver running down his spine when a hand caressed up his side across sensitised flesh, over his chest and up to his shoulder while the other started to rub circles onto his hip with his thumb. The longer it went on, the better Berwald felt, fully leaning into the touch. The hand on his shoulder moved down to his other hip again, the palm just skimming Berwald's nipple through his shirt; it had to be unintentional but it still sent a jolt through his entire being, warm and pleasant.

All the previous anxieties in his head were quietened, numbed by the everything he was feeling. Little else mattered in this drunken, ecstatic haze, he just knew he never wanted this to end.

But fate was laughing at him. Just as he was building up the courage to actually talk to the man, even bravely to ask for his number, his partner was suddenly, and quite violently, ripped away from him.

“What the fuck, Tino?!”

"Eduard, what are you doing?!"

The trance shattered as the argument continued to rage around him. Where hands had caressed him now felt bare and cold. Panic filtered back in, a thrill of fear shooting up his spine as he moved back and away as far as he could, arms outstretched at his sides to orientate himself. What the hell was happening?! 

"Hana, hel- shit! Mat! Lukas, I need help!" He called, hating how helpless he felt. Over the din he heard them calling, getting closer, but right now everything was happening too fast.

It was too familiar, horribly so.

There was a slap and sounds of a struggle, shouts and curses in languages he only partly recognised. His back smarted as a body ploughed into him, knocking him against the barrier and the wind from his lungs. It was overwhelming, his brain trying to piece together the sounds and physical feelings to create a picture, but there was only darkness. A sudden pain blared in his nose, a fist colliding with his face and making his eyes water. Blood thundered in his head, and he realised then that he was lying on the ground outside the dance floor, tossed carelessly over the barrier.

Why did all of his nights out end with him sprawled on his back somewhere?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look who made an appearance! 
> 
> Also- Up The Baggies! I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter :D things are looking up at the moment, and I might go back nd edit the last chapter a bit, honestly I wasn't feeling my best when I wrote it/edited it/uploaded it and I want this to be at least decent for you guys. The next update may take a while, but I promise faithfully to never leave a story hanging, I will never write "dead-end" fics :)


	4. This chapter is brought to you by the Outer Mongolian Yak Farmers Association

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Midsomer Murders, Hello Kitty or a yak- which is a shame, because that last one would certainly piss of the neighbours. That'll learn them for listening to country music ridiculously loudly.

It had to be said, there were worse places one could find themselves at two in the morning, but being sat in A + E was not exactly a party, either. Nose blocked and head pounding, the good mood from earlier had vanished into the ether and, to put the icing on the cake, Berwald had had to suffer through giving a statement to his own next door neighbour.

" _Maybe I really_ will _move to Outer Mongolia and herd yaks. I like the cold, I like yaks, there's no Mathias... Literally cannot see a single downside, not one."_

To put it mildly, Berwald was grumpy. Very grumpy, indeed.

"How are you feeling?" The soft voice came from his left side. While Mathias had tasked himself to go back to Berwald's and look after Hana until they got back, Lukas was staying with Berwald. The tall man's mouth was set in a rigid frown, traces of blood from his nose clinging to his lips; nothing appeared broken but there was a cut on his nose and, since he'd banged his head on the ground when he fell, they'd had to bring him in. Checking for concussion the usual way, testing for abnormal pupillary responses and uneven dilation, was impossible in his case. Thankfully the X-ray had come back clear, all they were waiting for was the physical examination.

As always when it came to his health it was better to be safe than sorry, and the risk incurred from missing a head injury like that was just not worth taking. If he passed out at home, or maybe lost his balance and fell... it was a thought that scared Berwald more than he'd admit aloud, a hollow pit forming in the depths of his stomach.

"I can't breathe properly, m' head feels like it's going to explode, and I really have to pee. Apart from that, I'm fantastic," he grumbled, deflecting the question.

"... You've also got vomit on your shirt. It's the blue and yellow one Mat brought you last Christmas."

Aaand his favourite shirt was ruined, too. "Fucking perfect," he grunted, running a hand through his hair in frustration, wincing at the lump at his crown.  At least, he consoled himself, his glasses hadn't broken and in spite of his bloodied and swollen nose, Berwald refused to take them off. 

"Could you...?" He trailed off, embarrassed, but Lukas merely stood and took his arm, helping him up and guiding him to the bathroom with a quiet "Of course." 

Washing his hands afterwards, he couldn't help but feel frustrated about what happened. The person who punched him had done it accidentally, according to the Estonian himself. " _Yeah, right._ " As if it wasn't humiliating enough, the man (called Tino, apparently) had a bloody boyfriend. So, Berwald surmised, he was either trying to cheat or make his partner jealous... honestly, he didn't know which option was worse.

It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time; it could have been anyone but it just happened to be Berwald. The Estonian had a truly vicious right hook, too, enough to send him flying backwards over the barrier. Never mind bruising anything else, his confidence had certainly taken battering. A night out hadn't been so much fun in ages. It was great to just break out of himself and appreciate it all- the drinking, the dancing, the music, being touched and handled like that.

And then the shit hit the fan and there was no control over the situation, no safe boundaries to apply and adhere to. His friends hadn't noticed what was going on until it was too late, they were enjoying themselves as they deserved to do- Berwald felt terrible for ruining their night. How could he predict a risk when he thought nothing more of the man's potential motives? 

Two short knocks at the door brought him back to the present. "You alright in there? You've been a while," Lukas asked, concerned.

"'M fine, hang on," Berwald replied, drying his hands. Opening the door, he held his right arm out for Lukas once more. "Sorry for worrying you... and I'm sorry for spoiling the night." A hard flick to his right bicep had him turning his head towards Lukas, brows raised questioningly.

"Don't be ridiculous, you didn't spoil anything." Seeing Berwald opening his mouth, he flicked him again in the same spot, harder. "Quiet. That Estonian prat was the one who punched you, and his boyfriend should have known better."

"But I didn't tell him I- ow." And again. Was this how he got Mat to cooperate?

"I wasn't talking about that," he sighed. Berwald had that look on his face, appearing stern and furious when he was actually just feeling upset. "From what I could gather he was trying to make his boyfriend jealous. It was petty and stupid, and you got hurt because of it. I doubt this was his intention, but that's not the point."

Berwald had to agree there, in fact stupid could be putting in mildly. Knowing that cheating wasn't his intention made things a little better, but still... "I should have said something. Maybe if I had he'd have backed off." 

"Maybe, maybe not. But don't try blame yourself for this. Everything happened fairly quickly, and you it wasn't like you knew him at all. Be reasonable, Berwald; stop over-analysing it, just accept it for what happened." Berwald's shoulders slumped in resignation, knowing his friend was right. It's easy to be wise with hindsight, there was nothing he could do now. He'd never had a chance anyway. 

"And besides," Berwald could easily hear the smirk in the other's voice, distracting him once more. "It's not as bad as the tattoo." Finally, a small smile broke across Berwald's face, cheeks pinking. 

"I still haven't got Mat back for that, what do I say to someone? I mean, it's right there on my arse!"

"You could always get it lasered off, or cover it up with something else," Lukas suggested unhelpfully.

"I couldn't sit on it for a week, Lukas, an entire week. I'd rather take a vow of abstinence."

"... I'm saying nothing." Much to Lukas' relief, the cloud of tension surrounding Berwald had subsided some. "Feeling better?"

Berwald considered a moment. Things could always be worse than a spoiled night out, much worse. The outcome wouldn't change by angst-ing over it. "Ja, I think I am. Still feel a bit rubbish, but... I'll be fine.  _Tusen takk,_ Lukas."

"No problems, I'm glad. You know we're always here." The text alert on his phone went off, Lukas grinning when he read the message from his other-half. "Mat says he's had all of your beer, Hana is fine and that your leftover  _kannelbullar_ were delicious."

"Fer fuck's... really?!" Was nothing sacred?! "Tell 'im he can forget me buying him lunch tomorrow, we'll take Emil instead."

"Lunch?" Lukas asked, puzzled, and Berwald nodded.

"As a thank you- for putting up with me grumping and looking after me." He could hear Lukas building up to argue and so cut him off. "Yes, I have to do that, and no, you're not putting anything towards it. It's my treat."

"Fine. Thank you," he said, honestly. It wasn't a case of them putting up with him, they were friends, but Berwald wanted to treat them and it would be churlish to refuse. "Emil has the day off tomorrow, actually, so if he comes along I'll pay for him."

Berwald nodded his agreement and the pair fell back into companionable silence, Lukas scrolling through his phone while Berwald sat and listened to everything going on around him. Every so often there was an announcement over the PA system, there was someone on the other side of the waiting room watching a video on their phone, and the nearby television was playing a rerun of an episode of _Midsomer Murders_ , the one where the detectives end up in Copenhagen and it was all to do with a biscuit factory- a good episode, he recalled. It was a bit too quiet and there was no audio description for him, but it served it's purpose well enough to help him pass the time and distract him from his sore nose and headache.

Just as the killer was about to incinerate the head baker, his name was called.

"Mr Oxenstjärna?" The doctor called into the waiting room, a Chinese man wearing a "Hello-Kitty" bandanna. "Sorry for the wait, it's been a busy night. Do you want a porter to wheel you through or are you able to walk?" 

"It's fine, I can walk," Berwald replied." Please, lead the way."

The journey to the cubical was short, walking past beds where other sick and injured people lay. Heart monitors beeped intermittently, none of them in sync with another, and the smells of disinfectant and illness grew stronger. They made idle chatter on the way, the doctor introducing himself as Dr Yao Wang; Berwald liked him immediately. Dr Wang seemed a no-nonsense but kind man who appeared relieved that neither Berwald nor Lukas were drunk and uncooperative. 

Arms helped guide him onto the bed when they reached their cubicle, lying back on the hard, sterile surface. This was always the difficult part, it never got easier.

"I'll be waiting out here for you," Lukas informed his friend, patting his shoulder briefly before leaving him alone, drawing the curtain behind him.

Berwald waited while Dr Wang called up his medical notes and gathered some supplies. Idly he wondered what the man might look like, anything to distract him. He had a strange voice- young but old at the same time, if that made any sense. Tired, and Berwald found himself fighting off a huge yawn. " _Been awake nearly twenty-two hours. I'm too old for this._ "

"That all seems fine. Right!" Dr Wang exclaimed with a clap of his hands. His patients' notes were up to date and detailed, both things he appreciated. Mr Oxenstjärna had been blinded at the age of nine and, Yao had to admit, reading the notes had made him wince. But he had a job to do, so he got on with it. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

Berwald braced himself, shutting his eyes tight and clenching his hands into fists as his glasses were removed. Gloved fingers ghosted over his nose, gently squeezing and prodding while memories assaulted his mind. It was the smells that were the worst. The smell of latex gloves was a powerful reminder- people telling him to open his eyes and being unable to because the pain was hideous, unbearable. He didn't even realise he'd started to hold his breath until his lungs started to protest. Opening his mouth to breathe made it worse, he could taste it.

Dimly, he became aware that the doctor was asking him something, asking him how his nose felt.

"Fine, don't think it's broken," he muttered quickly, trying to push the memories away. Mercifully, Yao agreed with him and moved on to check the back of his head, sitting him up and lowering the bed down until Berwald's feet touched the floor. The Swede even laughed a little when the other man complained that he was too tall for him, though it was more out of nerves than anything else. Questions about how he was feeling, memory, balance and reflex tests all went without issue, the headache every bit as much due to alcohol, dehydration and exhaustion as it was the bump. 

"Hmm, I think you've gotten away without a concussion- you've got a very hard skull!" 

"Umm... thank you?" Not the most back-handed complement he'd ever received, but not far off.

"You're welcome. Just make sure someone stays with you for the next few hours. The cut on your nose isn't too deep, but it'll need a butterfly stitch once I've disinfected it."

"Sure," Berwald murmured, glad to be lying down again. The tiredness seemed to have vanished, adrenaline leaving him wired. There was some rustling and a lot of movement to his left, a tearing open of a packet before cold and wet material was swiped across the bridge of his nose. He hissed in discomfort when the alcohol went stung the cut but otherwise made no complaints, focusing instead on his breathing and thinking back to Hana.

" _Just a few minutes, just a few then I can go home. It's fine._ " The doctor was carefully avoiding the sensitive skin around his eyes, but still Berwald could feel it starting to flare up a little, going dry and tight. The entire process took less than three minutes for Dr Wang to clean and dress his nose but it felt far longer to him. That he was in the presence of a medical professional didn't matter, it was a very vulnerable and uncomfortable position to be in, even worse than earlier when he'd been in the middle of a fight and helpless.

"All done!" Yao piped up cheerily, throwing the packets and his gloves in the bin and then helping Berwald to sit up. "If I were you, I'd take a paracetamol and go straight to bed. Change the dressing in the morning, or maybe get your friend to do it, and I'd leave those off for a little while if you can. The pressure won't help with the bruising," he suggested when his patient went to put his glasses back on, but regretted in when the man's face became hard, a deep scowl lining his features. His eyes were still closed and he was facing straight ahead, away from him, but still Yao felt the glare.

Berwald ignored the doctor's advice and restored the frames to their rightful place. "Thank you for your help," he muttered shortly, wanting out of the hospital and into bed as fast as was humanly possible. Home, bed and safety, that was what he wanted right now.

"No problems. I'll take you back to your friend." 

Berwald nodded, groaning as his spine popped when he hauled himself off the bed. The doctor took his left arm while Berwald held his cane in his right hand, sweeping it ahead of him with ease. Soon, the doctor's arm was replaced by Lukas's, looping through the crook of Berwald’s elbow and grounding him.

“Get home safe now, ok?" Doctor Wang bid them goodnight, watching them go with a frown. 

Tiredness weighted Berwald's being and he must have fallen asleep in the cab because the next thing Berwald was aware of was Lukas paying the fare and helping him out of the car, placing one hand on the bump at the back of his head to prevent him from banging it on the door-frame. The journey from the Countess Hospital to his house by the canal didn't take more than ten minutes, but he still felt bad for being asleep and not paying.

“Pay ya back tomorrow,” he mumbled, yawning deeply. “… I’m so sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry about paying me, and I don’t want to hear another apology,” Lukas waved him off, brows furrowing when Berwald swayed a little and groaned mutedly. “Keys?”

Berwald fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them over, a wave of relief passing through him when the door unlocked and he could finally enter his home, discarding his shoes on the rack and his jacket on a hook as quietly as he could.

“Is Mat-?”

“Already asleep. He said he left Hana in your room, don’t worry.” Grabbing a large glass of water each, Lukas led Berwald to his bedroom and bid him goodnight, watching the tall man shut himself in for the night. The frown playing on his face became a soft smile at the snoring he could already hear coming from the guest room, opening the door quietly and undressing. Mathias stirred in in sleep as his fiancé climbed into bed beside him.

“Er du okej, kærlighed?” He murmured, eyelids fluttering in and out of sleep.

“Ja, rolig ikke.” Lukas replied, knowing the Dane would still understand his Norwegian and pressing a soft kiss to his lover’s lips.

“Hmm,” Mathias sighed happily, pulling Lukas into a gentle embrace and touching a kiss to his cheek, breathing in his cool scent. Within moments, Mathias was back asleep, resting his head on Lukas’ shoulder while he remained awake a little longer, thinking. 

Closing the door behind him, Berwald let out a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall. Finally, he was home. A soft patter came towards him, Hana’s nose bumping into his leg. How he'd missed her. Reaching out with his free hand he gave her head a quick ruffle, manoeuvring them both so that he could sit on the bed and she could sit on the floor between his legs, placing the water where he couldn’t knock it over on the bedside table. Sorting stuff out could wait for a few minutes.

“S’ sorry, Hana. Didn't mean to wake ya, or be out so long,” he breathed. "Missed ya, a lot. I'm so glad I've got you- and Mat and Lukas. Don't know what I'd do without ya." Berwald let himself pet Hana for a couple of minutes more, the comforting feeling of soft, warm fur beneath his fingers letting him find his balance. All the tension and anxiety gradually left him, safe now in his own space with his companion. Hana was right there and his friends were just across the hall. Home.

“Okej, Hana. You go back to bed.” Reluctantly he let her go, hearing her flop down onto her bed and get comfy. Unfortunately, Berwald couldn’t do the same, not just yet. Moving quietly, he stripped to his boxers and went into the bathroom.

“ _Where’d I put it, I swear I left it on- Aha._ ” After a moment’s searching in the bathroom cabinet, he found what he was looking for. By now, he could feel how inflamed the skin around his eyes was. With a light hand and a damp cotton pad he cleansed the area and dabbed on the ointment, hoping that it would be better by morning… well, later in the morning anyway, given that it was now close to four AM. His nose was throbbing, but honestly he’d had worse, a lot worse, than this. Taking the doctors advice, he downed a paracetamol with a gulp of water.

Finally finished and totally exhausted, he flopped gracelessly into bed and shifted onto his side, one arm underneath his head under the pillow while the other pulled the duvet around himself tighter, shutting his eyes. He could still hear in his head the man's voice, it was beautiful... when he hadn't been swearing like a sailor in Finnish. He could admit to having felt the first stirrings of attraction to him, wanting to ask for his number and invite him for _fika_ maybe. Berwald's mouth pursed in disappointment; telling him about his disability would have become a natural part of the conversation then, if the man hadn't realised already, and he'd have some degree of control over it. It wasn't exactly something Berwald could just blurt out. But now, he'd never get the chance. 

Jeez, if things got any worse he may actually have to pay a visit to the school's resident Hungarian match-maker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Danish: "Er du okay, kærlighed?" = "Are you ok, love?"  
> Norwegian: "Tusen Takk"= "thank you (literally, thousand thanks)"; "Ja, rolig ikke" = "Yes, don't worry"
> 
> Oy blin! (I've been watching a lot of Life of Boris lately) I'm sorry this update took so bloody long, but personal life stuff had been going on, both good and not so good, but I have a part-time job and a place at university for ten months! Also reason why this took so long was because I had no idea how to pick things back up after the last chapter, this posted chapter is something like draft number nine, but the others will pan out better to write bc I've planned more. I hope you enjoyed it, see you in five months for he next update XD (I promise I won't)


	5. The Eleventh Circle of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not affiliated in any way with Cards Against Humanity or One Direction and, in the case of the latter, who would actually want to be? 
> 
> I have won two out of the three games of Cards I have played because I am a terrible, awful, dreadful human being 😊

Not for the first time during Tino Väinämöinen's relatively short life he awoke to a crippling hangover. In someone else's bed. 

"Ohhhhhh, voi luoja..." he groaned. Tino swore he could feel the planet rotating on its axis, sense the tectonic plates shifting and grinding beneath him as a vile beat pulsed in his head. Oh, he was going to be sick, so very, very sick.

Dear God, let him not be at Feliks’ house, he prayed desperately. Please, _please,_  if thou art merciful, let not this hangover kill him and tell him that he had not thrown up southern fried chicken pizza (with extra anchovies, olives and pineapple) upon yet another poor, undeserving victim.

Brightness splintered through his vision as he forced his eyes open and it was then that he noticed the wallpaper was a bizarre, yet tasteful, blend of horses and the colour pink. He knew that one particular game of Cards Against Humanity would send him into Satan's fiery pit eventually, but he'd not expected eternal damnation to come quite so soon. Or in so many shades of chartreuse. 

Feliks Łukasiewicz- the Eleventh Circle of Hell (the Tenth Circle currently being Tino's outstanding hangover). But, he had to ask himself, just how the hell did he get here? Geez, he smelt like a brewery and his tongue felt like he’d licked his way through the streets of Chester. Who knew, maybe he had.

Certainly wouldn't be the worst thing he'd licked on a night out.

The shirt and shorts he was wearing most certainly did not belong to him ( _"Who the fuck put me in a One Direction shirt?"_ ) and, turning onto his side, he found a large glass of water and a packet of paracetamol on the bedside table next to his phone, keys and wallet. Without hesitation he took two, grimacing as the cold liquid slammed into the pit of his belly. Tino  _hurped_ and tried his best not to chuck the hydration back up. To his frustration, the battery on his mobile was dead, leaving him to hope he wasn't late for work, yet again.

A hepatic exorcism sounded like a fucking fantastic idea right about now. As he pondered what such a process would involve and waited for the room to stop spinning, Tino tried his best to recall the last few hours.

_The heavy beat of music and flashing lights set the backdrop for the mother of all rows. People stared at them, some even laughed, but it was all ignored._

_"We're done, Ed! I-I can't believe you done this to me, to us! You- How long has this been going on?! How long have you been cheating on me, going behind my back and-!"_

_"Tino, you're being ridiculous! People are staring, you're embarrassing yourself!"  
_

_"_ _Me?! **I'm**_   _embarrassing?! What's embarrassing is you don't even have the guts to admit it! You spineless piece of-"_

Oh God.

 _"Dance with me!"_ _He called, and the tall man started to move with him, hands guiding him. Light hair, warm body and dark glasses._

_“What the fuck, Tino?!” Eduard screeched as he pulled Tino away, hand gripping his upper arm painfully._

_Tino pushed him back into a throng of people."Eduard, what are you doing?!"_

_"Mida kuradit sa teed?!"_

_"Se ei vittu kuulu sinulle! Jätä minut rauhaan!" Tino yelled back and slapped him hard, then watched in horror as Eduard came towards him with a fist raised. Time slowed down as he feinted left to avoid the punch. The man in dark glasses pitched backwards and slammed to the floor with an audible thud._

Oh God, no. 

Tino was suddenly very grateful to have woken up here. Panicky thoughts of ' _I can't go home; oh god, what am I going to do?! I can't make this better'_ raced through his mind. He knew it was over but that didn't mean there wasn't a part of him that wanted to try, to try and make things right and go back to normal because he loved Eduard, truly did, and that sort of love doesn't just vanish overnight. Their three year anniversary was next month. They were living together, thinking about buying a house together until it kept getting put off and off and off, too busy to do this, that and the other, and know he knew why.

The possibility that it might have not been meaningless, that Eduard had actually fallen for the Ukrainian woman was far too painful to acknowledge. Eduard couldn’t have been stringing him along for all this time, so what was the turning point? Was- was it him, something- anything- he had done? That Eduard had become distant was obvious, but Tino attributed it to the stress of work, the company going into administration and being taken over, the worry of not keeping his job, but that was months ago. 

Everything had only come to light because of one lie too many, one final inconsistency. There were things he'd said he wished he hadn't, and things he'd heard he wished he could forget. He cringed to remember it, but Tino could admit that one of his biggest faults was his temper- when he got started he just wouldn't stop. Eduard had left and then so had he- angry, bitter and in desperate need of a drink. How he’d come to end up at  _Rosie’s_  he didn’t know, but then  _he_ turned up with the woman herself and Tino lost it.

Katya did have, at least, the grace and good manners to leave before the row started again. Or maybe she fled in terror- either way, Tino didn't care. He didn't know her beyond the fact she, Eduard and Toris all worked together for the same firm. On the one occasion they'd met and spoken she had been polite, funny and pleasant. 

How much of it was him and how much of it was her, Tino asked himself. Who started what, he wanted to know.

But it didn't matter right now. With a resigned sigh, Tino gave up; things that couldn't be dealt with in the immediate future were bundled up and shoved to the back of the pile. They'd have to talk at some point but it would have to wait until Tino could do so soberly, maturely and without making a bathbomb out of Eduard's precious laptop. He wasn't running from the problem, just doing the practical thing of waiting until he was ready to deal with it. Worrying and fretting about it right now and for the rest of the day was not going to make a difference to him when he got home beyond unreasonably stressing him out.

Tino screwed his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath and forcing it out through his nostrils. There were two important facts he couldn't escape from. One- he needed food, a shower and clean clothes for work, and two- if he didn't sprint to the bathroom in the next five seconds his bladder would collapse,  _holy shit_.

Despite the way the world spun when he lurched out of bed, Tino determinedly hobbled his way through to the bathroom only to find the door (festooned with pink hair-bow-wearing ponies) was closed. Screaming internally, the temper tantrum Tino was about to throw was cut short when it unlocked and Felik's boyfriend emerged fresh from the shower.

"Ah, good morning, Tino. Did you-"

"No time, kidneys failing!" Tino shouted and slammed the door behind him.

"... Sleep well?" Toris shook his head and sighed. Bloody Tino. "Babe! Get the pierogi on, Tino's alive," the Lithuanian man called down the stairs.

The shower started up again and Toris left him to it. By now, both of them were used to finding Tino drunk on their doorstep at ungodly hours of the morning, but this was different. From what they could gather before the Finn became comatose they knew he and Eduard had broken up, something neither of them had never expected. They'd known Eduard for years before they all came to the UK and became immediate friends with Tino. Hearing Ed's side of the story would have to wait for now, but Toris wanted to know exactly what happened.

"Well, fuck," Feliks gaped over his coffee once Tino finished talking. "With Katya? But she always seemed so nice! And Ed, he's never been like that. I- oh Tino, I'm so sorry."

"Not half as sorry as I am," Tino muttered into his pierogi, avoiding his friends sympathetic green gaze. 

"What happened after that; you said something about someone getting punched?" Toris asked, sipping his coffee and hoping Tino hadn't done anything stupid.

"... I may have done something stupid."

There it was.

"I think I knew a 'Something Stupid' in college, great butt." Feliks blurted out before he could stop himself, avoiding his boyfriends disapproving look.

"Not like that!" Tino cried. He'd not really had time to give the stranger's backside a full appraisal, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective). Although... "But I might have given that impression. Sort of. Maybe... Stop looking at me like that."

"What happened, Tino?" Toris sighed, watching as Tino became more contrite.

"I-I just wanted to make Eduard jealous," he admitted sheepishly. "He went off to Katya and I-I just... If he could go off with someone else, why couldn't I? There weren't many people about but... There was a man, he was dancing with his friends. We just danced, nothing more,” Tino assured them, in spite of recalling the way his body felt underneath his wanting hands- warm and just soft enough, touching his sides and gripping his hips.

“But then Ed came back and we argued again. I slapped him, he aimed a punch at me and hit the other guy instead."

"Was he ok? The guy, I mean, not Eduard." Feliks could admit to being kind of impressed in a grim sort of way, until his Finnish friend became even more shamefaced.

"I don't know. He fell over the barrier and banged his head, think his friends took him to hospital." He hoped he was ok, truly; though awkward and, now Tino thought about it, kind of hostile at first, he'd quickly warmed up to him. All he could really remember was that he was wearing sunglasses in the dark of the club and how deep his voice was when he called for help. 

"Shit, I hope he's alright." Feliks refreshed their cups of coffee once more, lips pursed in thought. "At least he had his friends with him, did they say anything to you?"

"Nope," Tino shook his head. "They seemed too worried for the guy to think about me... I kinda wish I knew who he was though; I'd like to apologise, at least."

"I wouldn't worry too much it. Besides, it wasn't even you that hit him," Toris assured him. He still couldn't get over the fact that Eduard had actually assaulted someone- in all the years they'd known each other, Toris had never known him to be even remotely violent! 

“Yeah, I guess.” A quick look at the kitchen clock told him he needed to get his arse into gear. “Shit, I need to get going soon- my shift starts at one.”

"Your clothes are upstairs from last time, don’t worry,” Feliks smirked.

"You say that like I do this a lot.”

”Third time this month, Ti. As the resident accountant I’ve worked out that, if this was a hotel, you’d owe us about £30 a night for bed, breakfast and use of the facilities,” Toris informed him, ticking the charges off his fingers.

"... Is that mate’s rates or...?” Tino hedged.

"That’s ‘ _I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to peel you of the bathroom floor and mop up your puke_ ' rates." Toris deadpanned. "Adds a little extra for the therapy.”

"Stellar.” Downing the rest of his coffee and stuffing another pierogi in his mouth, Tino got himself dressed and brushed his teeth (he had his own toothbrush, jeez he needed to stop doing this). With a promise that he’d text them later and thanks for their hospitality- and sufferance- Tino departed for the restaurant. Working an eight hour shift on a hang-over was not something he was looking forward to, but he needed the money and distractions.

Without his phone the walk to work was quiet. Kind of boring actually. It was peaceful; just a little sunny but sufficient enough chill to know that Halloween would be coming at the end of the next month. And after that would come his very favourite time of the year- Christmas! Giving presents and spreading the cheer to everyone...  _Almost_ everyone, he corrected himself glumly. 

”Right on time, Tino!” Sadiq bellowed from the kitchen. The huge Turk was currently crafting a delicate looking dessert in the back section of the kitchen, massive hands moving in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. 

“Hey!" He greeted, genuinely cheerful now. "You on with Anatoli today?” He asked, grinning widely when Sadiq gave a mad cackle, shaking his head.

"Not today- it's Boris! Hope you brought your flak jacket, you’re gonna need it,” Sadiq winked. The relationship between the head chef and the Bulgarian deputy-head chef was famously antagonistic. Most of the time it was funny to hear them bicker and swear at each other, but there had been occasions where sharp objects and iron skillets had been thrown around. 

“How many covers?” Tino asked, mentally preparing his feet for the onslaught.

”Typical Friday, mainly walk-ins 'til later. Hundred or so, maybe one-fifty.”

Tino made a sound of disgust, sticking his tongue out, but the chef just laughed.

”You know you love me really, Tino!”

”Yeah, yeah. You only love me ‘cus I do potwash,” he smirked, tying the apron around his waist. “See you in a bit, Sadiq.”

In the main body of the restaurant, Tino found Heracles resetting for lunch service- at least he’d be on with someone just as tired as he was.

“Morning,” he yawned, in spite of the fact it was ten to one. “Busy day today.” 

“I know, Sadiq’s just told me. What time you on ‘til?” Tino hoped they’d be on together until eight: for a sleepy man, the Greek was surprisingly speedy with service. There were other members of staff too, but Tino's favourites were Heracles, Luca and Sebastiano.

“Six, then you’ve got Luca.”

Nice, the Luxembourger was a riot to work with! With a clap of his hands, Tino was ready for battle. “Great, lets get cracking shall we?”

Hours into the shift his plan had worked perfectly- only once or twice did his thoughts stray to Eduard. The customers and kitchen were keeping him on his toes and distracting him easily. So far he’d had a family of five for a birthday lunch, a couple celebrating an anniversary and the cutest little kid he’d ever seen who said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ every time Tino brought something to the table. Each time he ventured into the kitchen he had to laugh at the cheerful bitching back and forth, the out of tune singing and flirting . Sadiq had even snuck him some cheesy garlic bread during his first half-hour break, and by the time Luca arrived it felt like hardly any time had passed.

When eight came around and he walked himself home, Tino couldn't hold off any longer. Staring up at their flat, Tino knew what he was going to have to face, preparing himself for another screaming row or worse, quiet words of meaningless apologies and ' _it's not working out, it's not you- it's me_ '. So when he unlocked the door to find nothing but a note saying Eduard needed some time to think before they talked properly, it felt like a dreadful anticlimax. When his phone was turned back on again to no new messages and no new texts, all Tino felt was disappointment.

The tears came suddenly and he just couldn't stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: "Mida kuradit sa teed ?!" "What the fuck are you doing" (Estonian)  
> "Se ei vittu kuulu sinulle! Jätä minut rauhaan!" "It doesn't fucking concern you! Leave me alone!" (Finnish) Big thanks to user Heimotus for the translation correction!
> 
> I work in a restaurant as a waiter-food/drinks runner/potwash/desert-maker/general "I will do whatever you tell me, give me money" person and my head chef is an outstanding human being, so I injected a bit of that into Saqiq because I feel they're quite similar :)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter- I've never been in a relationship myself but I've based this off experiences with mates and how I think Tino would act in this situation, that he'd not let himself get upset about it until he was alone and in private, that's what I would probably do anyway, and Finland's a very practical/pragmatic person. It was fun writing this bit, though, and I hope I've given you chaps a good insight into my interpretation of Tino :)


End file.
